Pure
by theidiotgirl
Summary: Edward Cullen is no monster.


**Summary: **Edward Cullen is no monster.

**Disclaimer: **Nick Cave. Twilight.

**Author's Note:** Unbeta-ed.

* * *

**PURE**

"_The water is high on the beckoning river  
I made her a promise I could not deliver  
And the cry of the birds sends a terrible shiver  
Through me and my sorrowful wife"_

* * *

Edward cries out to an empty room, but no tears come. The pain is too much, and he gnashes his teeth as a final wave of agony crashes over him. It leaves him panting, body hot and flushed. Every inch of his body aches. Edward rolls onto his side, body protesting, and curls in on himself as a sharp pain rockets through him. He gasps, presses his hands to his burning chest and stops.

There is no heartbeat. There is no thud and thump, and he presses harder against himself, icy panic working it's way up his spine. Edward goes numb with dread, thinks I can't be dead. But he is, and he howls out in despair, jumps at the loud snarl that tears from his throat.

He jumps up from the cot he's been lying on, is surprised when he hits his head on the ceiling, plaster falling down to the floor. He glances up from where he's landed, stares at the dent in the ceiling with something between fear and awe. He tries to rationalize everything that's happened since he woke, but no logical explanation will come. He clutches himself, thinks abomination, devil child, demon.

He makes a dash for the door, grabs frantically at the door handle. It breaks off in his hand, crumbles in his grip. Monster, he thinks viciously, shoves his shoulder against the door with all the force he can muster. Monster, villain, evil. The door smashes to splinters, the hinges rip from the wall. Edward goes flying down the hallway, crashes into a wall. He goes straight through it, hits his shoulder on plumbing. The pipe bursts, water soaking his clothes.

The walls are dingy, covered in soot. Light filters in from a nearby window, dust glowing gold. The whole of the hall is alight with the warm glow of gold as Edward shifts away from the rubble. His mind is abuzz with worry and panic. How did I get here, he wonders, pushing up from the floor. Who brought me here, what am I? He straightens up, steps into the light.

Edward bellows out in surprise. His skin is aflame. It is lit with a thousand jewels. The light of it bounces off the walls, winks seductively into dark corners. Fear rocks his being, makes him shake and tremble. Evil, evil, evil, he thinks savagely. His hands work frantically, clawing at his own skin.

To his amazement, his skin gives way, tears from his bones with the force of his own two hands. He whimpers faintly. He's both disgusted and thankful. The sight of his body ripping apart fills him with a sick satisfaction. Finally, he thinks gratefully, I can end this. His flesh slips from his hands to the dirty ground, quivers as if it's a living thing.

There is no blood. There is only a searing pain; Edward collapses exhausted to the floor when his chest has been ripped out. He feels queasy, his body swaying. At his feet his flesh and bones shake violently, rattle. Let me die, he pleads to God, lying on his side. Let this torture end, he prays, vision beginning to blur. The sweetness of dark sleep seeps towards him, and he embraces the blackness, nestles safely in its cocoon. His last thought is of his parents, their smiling faces beckoning him forward, and then there is nothing.

Edward wakes to noise. So much noise, it rattles him down to the core of his bones, shakes his every nerve. Make it stop, he thinks groggily, rolling onto his side. For a moment he is home, in the safely of his bed. He pictures his mother in the kitchen, up to her elbows in soapy water and she washes dishes. He imagines his father on the couch, newspaper in hand, brow furrowed.

Eyes snap open, a grim realization settling over Edward. Dead, and it rings hollow in his mind. He sits up, and his chest is perfect. There is no scar, no blood, no anything to show for the torture he'd inflicted upon himself earlier. I can't die. I have to live with this evil. I have—I have to…The noise pounds against Edward's skull. It is too loud to block out.

…_she always gets everything. It's not… _

…_where I put the book, I'm always misplacing…_

The voices are like shouts. It's as if a line of people are moving by, screaming in his ears as they pass. Edward tries to shut them out, yells with the effort. The voices won't fade, they come on stronger and stronger still. His hands come up to push the sides of his head, he is desperate for the quiet. But the noise continues to build. It swells and swells. It is voices and sighs, the sound of shuffling feet and clanging dishes. It is the sound of someone swallowing, laughter, a cat's meow, and the swish of a woman's skirt on wooden floors.

…_peas, carrots, celery, and–and what was the…_

Outside the empty house, the wind shifts. It blows past the front door, slips through the foyer and up the stairs. It snakes around the corner of the hall, brushes invisible finger through Edward's hair. It carries with it the sent of something sickeningly sweet, like sugar and honey. There's a pang in Edwards stomach, it gurgles and growls. The scent wafts by again, and Edward lurches forward. He finds himself flying through the house at an alarming speed, but he can't focus on that fact for too long.

…_quiet for too long. I hope he hasn't gone…_

All he knows is the hunger. It tears at him, sets every bit of him on edge. It is an all consuming fire; it blinds him. Food, he thinks, his mouth salivating at the underlying metal scent of the sweetness in the air. The front door comes into view. Yes, Edward thinks. Yes, yes, yes. The voices are furiously loud, the nonsensical sounds like bombs in the background. His fingers itch with anticipation as the scent grows stronger, becomes thick and heady around him. The door is inches away.

…_NO!…_

The voice tears through Edward's skull, and something solid slams into him, sends him tumbling. His back hits the stairs, and he feels them crush beneath his weight. He struggles against the weight on his chest. He has to get to that scent, that intoxicating smell that pulls him forward. The warm weight on him shifts, and Edward finds himself struggling against an iron grip.

"Let me go," Edwards pleads, body trembling with want. "I have to find it–You have to release me, please. I'm hungry, _so_ hungry."

The man holding him sighs, but his grip does not waiver. Instead, Edward feels the shackles of this stranger's arms tighten. He continues to struggle, the perfumed air tickling his nose. His nostrils flare, inhaling the scent, and a ferocious growl rolls up his throat, and he's free.

…_must stop him. I can't let…_

The door collapses at his touch, and the street is dark and abandoned. The moon hangs low in the black of the sky. The smell is thick here, and he follows it to a brick house. The hunger drives him, and he's in the home in an instant. There are yelps of surprise, and he can smell fear. It sends him over the edge, makes him free. He is weightless, and the scent burns him.

…_fear no evil; for thou art with… _

…_have to grab the kids. I can't hold him off for…_

The sound of tearing flesh is music to his ears. It sends electric thrills through his being. He catches the women first, and her body is pliable in his strong hands. The walls are splashed with blood, the floor flooded with it. It washes down his parched throat, and he feasts until there is nothing left. Just bones of a family who used to be, entrails on the stairs, and torn clothes hanging from the light fixture.

When it's over, when the blood lust has ceased and Edward is able to see the massacre that is a result of his hands, he cries. He howls out in despair, thinks monster, demon, devil. Evil, vile, unworthy of God, heaven will not accept you. Monster, demon, devil.

He tears at his body, ripping flesh and meat from bone. Blood sprays the furniture, wets the ceiling. Die, he whimpers to the quiet house, die. He begs God to let him die. Pleads, prays, tries to bargain. Monster, monster, monster. He is flesh and bone, no heartbeat. He is an abomination.

The sounds are too loud. The world goes black.

…_What have I done?…_


End file.
